Any other night, Marvin would’ve been pissed. He’d just ripped his blue polo on the corner of this cheap metal stepladder. And the hole was big enough the district manager would’ve made him buy a new one from corporate. Twenty-five bucks down the drain.
But there’d be no replacement polo and no outlay of cash.
Instead, Marvin would place his torn polo in the cardboard box along with the other loose ends from the store and ship it off to Englewood.
And then he could go and figure out how to feed his family.
It was a good run, Blockbuster.
The Weekday One Hundred 